The heartbeat
Of teenage years
Held back the poet
In dreaming fears
The scribbled notes
On wallpapers back
Still to be born
Finesse to lack.
The quiet night
Or dawn to christen
The fleeting sounds
To nature listen
The eager pen
Its bleeding ink
Upon a hastened hand
A soul to seek.
Slowly as
The world it turned
Grasping moments
Before they burned
Away into
A fiery sky
A child of words
A poetic eye.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: April 6th, 2026 02:24
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 33
Offline)
Comments4
Good write N. How's those buses on Bank Holidays?! lol.
non existent lol, thanks for read
Doh! Not even an appearance say, once every 2 hours?
it just drives past bus stop lol
What is the point of it being in service?! lol.
IT FILLS THE GAP BETWEEN NO 6 AND NO 8 LOL
lol.
great write
thanking you for reading its always much appreciated
Beautiful words describing the creator and creation nicely done. "In the beginning was the word"
much appreciated and many thanks for reading
You are very welcome Norman
Great words Norman, those words eventually become written in our lives.
Andy
thats true so very true, thanks for reading always appreciated
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